The Demarcier Diaries
by Estriel
Summary: Evelyn Demarcier is a lady with a secret. But is she as innocent as she seems? Riddles and clues lead the great detective to the conclusion...C7 up!
1. An Extraordinary Woman

Hey y'all! It's my first story, and I'm dying to know if you like it/ what you think about it! Any comments are welcome, but please keep flames down to a low smolder, and include helpful advice- or turn to your therapist.  
  
Chapter One: Dining Alone.  
  
The inside of a hanson cab is not very comfortable. Contrary to popular belief in the future, it is sincerely the roughest way to travel. I can totally understand why a person with the means should own their own carriage- so they can pad it well, I expect. My name is Evelyn Demarcier, and I am, or so I have been called by friends, an anomaly.  
  
I sit, at this moment, in a cab, heading for Simpson's, that, to the uninitiated, means dinner. I am reasonably well off, with my jobs as a concert violinist and a highly selective music teacher bringing in a reasonable salary that allows me to indulge a few of my highly unusual whims.  
  
These comprise of my liking to cook for myself, and 'invent' new dishes, I adore Italian, although find it impossible to learn without a teacher, and I love to surprise people. I arrived in London, not quite poor, with only a small reticule, a dog named Duke and my violin.  
  
I was lucky enough to meet Giorgio De Ifaalussi, a famous concert master at my third audition, who recognised what skill I had, and gave me an immediate position as fourth violin, with a salary I wasn't stupid enough to even think about refusing. Giorgio has been a firm friend through my troubles, and has been as a brother to me. I thought at one point he might have feelings for me, but soon discovered I wasn't his type. Tall, dark and male fitted the profile more accurately.  
  
Also, he had a weakness for spaniels like Duke.  
  
~ Person Change! ~  
  
Evelyn descended from the cab, and having paid, hurried into the warmth of Simpson's, before her hair was too ruffled by the cold wind. It was up in a stylish French twist, without a hat, for she loathed the things. A garçon immediately saw her to a table, and she perused the menu before choosing pasta, a recent, although not unfamiliar addition to the menu, to the lady. She calmly ordered white wine to go with her meal, and then sat back in her chair and subtly began to examine her fellow diners.  
  
Nearby, a couple gazed into each others eyes. He was short and handsome, with a handlebar moustache she found intensely unattractive. He was also clearly a banker, with plenty of money, judging by the quality of his cigar, and the bankers' emblem on his briefcase. She was known to Evelyn as Miss N. le Brun, the first Clarinet, a stuck up society girl, who was trying to rise into higher social circles.  
  
A single girl, who seemed to be reading voraciously while eating soup, occupied the next table, her page turning caused her to look up frequently, and sigh quietly, before returning to her book. On her right was a married couple, laughing merrily with each other, the husband telling an amusing anecdote, which was clearly hilarious to his spouse. By them was a single man, dressed plainly, with a sullen look, as if his rare steak was not to his liking? He sat with his profile to Evelyn, and his shoulders hunched towards the table of the banker and Miss le Brun.  
  
Near him was a table of two businessmen, obviously negotiating a deal of some sort, by the ingratiating smiles and liberal pouring of wine. On the other side of Evelyn were two elderly ladies, having dessert, who looked to be old friends.  
  
Evelyn took her meal quietly, while watching her fellow guests, and when she had finished, she rose to go. As she did so, the banker and Miss le Brun also went to leave. The evening show was to start in twenty minutes at the Apollo, and quite a few of the diners were also trying to get to the famous theatre in time. Evelyn enjoyed her evening, meeting a few friends at the Apollo, and went home straight after the show, to sleep.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Later on. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The next morning, she was awoken by her landlady knocking on her door. "Evie dear, Evie! There are some men here to see you; a mister Sherlock Holmes, a Doctor Watson and Inspector Lestrade from Scotland Yard. They want to see you urgently!"  
  
I got up, neatly and quickly washed and dressed, and swept down the hallway to the sitting room within ten minutes of Mrs Jackson's call. "Good Morning, gentlemen, how may I help you?"  
  
They had risen at my entry, and sat down as I sat on the sofa next to a man of about my own age, with broad shoulders and a kindly face. Another man, short and fair, with an inquisitive expression I took to be Inspector Lestrade. A tall man, smartly dressed, who gave off such charisma and energy that I had addressed the question to him instead of Inspector Lestrade, stood by the fireplace and fixed me with a penetrating stare.  
  
"You are Miss Evelyn Demarcier, who dined at Simpson's last night?"  
  
The Inspector began. This was going to be tiresome, I could tell by the monotone he spoke in. "Why gentlemen, you wear such grave expressions! Who has been murdered?" Surely it was obvious. I loved to surprise people- the looks on their faces mixed suspicion with interest.  
  
"I am Sherlock Holmes. A Miss Nancy le Brun and a Mister Edward St Albans have been poisoned. We know you were at Simpson's until twenty to seven, whereupon you left to go to the Apollo. Did you enjoy the Pirates of Penzance? What was the quality of the violin playing, may I enquire?"  
  
I was a little flustered by the questions, and his cold, fast way of speaking, but I remained as calm as I could.  
  
"The violins were excellent, and I enjoyed it very much. You also play the violin; a good make?" He had forgotten, when waxing the bow, that he had wax on his hand, and accidentally rubbed wax onto the opposite sleeve- I only recognized it because I had done it myself the other day.  
  
"Bravo, Miss Demarcier, Holmes, she has challenged you." Watson, as he must be, applauded happily. So Holmes wasn't often challenged, eh? It must be so, for Watson to chortle so at my words  
  
. "A Stradivarius, as your own violin is also, I believe. Your pasta was enjoyable, also?" This man was good. How did he know I had eaten pasta? I searched his appearance for clues to my next comeback.  
  
"You left home in a hurry this morning, Mr Holmes." He frowned, and then noticed what I had- his laced shoes were laced in the most lop sided manner I have ever seen on such a fanatically neat man. "Touché, my dear Miss Demarcier." His grey eyes held a glint of interest; but I was only allowed a seconds sight of it, before it was filed away. Then he became all business, as Lestrade complained "Can we stop the battle of wits, please? I have a murder investigation to persue".  
  
"Miss Demarcier, we have come here to ask you about your observations last night- particularly any suspicious actions, but mainly to ask if you remember the other diners that were in the vicinity of the deceased." He spoke in a mechanical way, plainly regurgitating someone's words- from Lestrade's smug look; I thought he was the culprit.  
  
"Actually, Mr Holmes, I can describe a few of them in great detail. Or sketch them." He was less than surprised, and very unimpressed. Men that think they've seen it all bug me. "That would be excellent." Just as I thought he was going to be interesting, as well. Typical. Men feel threatened: they resort to business mode.  
  
________________Later that Day ____________________________________  
  
"So, Holmes, Miss Demarcier has been very useful, you agree?" Watson was walking alongside his old friend with a smirk carefully concealed by his interest in passing trivia. Holmes did not reply, only strode out the more fervently. As they came to a halt, forced by a cab passing, Holmes threw a glance at his friend who was busy feigning a lack of interest.  
  
"Yes Watson. It is quite unusual for a single woman to be so intelligent and to notice with such detail." "Really, Holmes! You must not think so. It is very bad of you." Watson laughingly chided his taciturn companion. They were once again walking, and Watson could swear that Holmes was getting faster in an effort to quiet him.  
  
"It is bad of me, Watson, but it has been a habit of mine to believe only what I have seen with my own eyes, in regard to the feminine sex- the more lovely, the more dangerous, and in some cases, the more lovely, the more unintelligent and weak. And they are almost always frivolous." Holmes was speaking in a quiet voice, which was lucky, as Watson was sure any lady in the vicinity would care to challenge his friend on that statement.  
  
"So is Miss Demarcier unintelligent and weak or dangerous and frivolous?" Watson enquired quizzically. Holmes avoided the question by entering the house and retiring to his bedroom, but both knew that Evelyn Demarcier was none of the above. Only as dangerous as any of her sex- which, as Holmes would point out, is a very ambiguous statement.  
  
Well, that's it for chapter one, what did y'all think? I know its not very impressive cannon-wise, but the only way I'll ever improve is if you help me! It's my first Holmes fic, but I've been busy researching romance fics (by reading BST and its own fanfic, along with Nako-Chan's which I also love!), and Holmes' character, by reading the canon, but I still need loads of help!  
  
If I've reviewed you, make me happy by pressing the button, and If I haven't then I'm sure to if you leave me a note! Chapter 2 up soon!  
  
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	2. When Evelyn and Holmes cross paths and m...

Thanks to all reviewers, I love you all and thou shalt be rewarded! With Cookies and more.  
  
Chapter Two- When Evelyn and Holmes cross paths and minds.  
  
Holmes was busy for the next week, visiting other diners, and looking up evidence, but to my amazement, Miss Demarcier paid me a visit on Thursday morning. We sat chatting for quite some time, and I formed the opinion that Holmes was most definitely wrong in his thoughts that beautiful ladies could only be dangerous, weak, or stupid. Miss Demarcier was none of the above. She left me with a smile, a curious message for Holmes, and a riddle to solve. When Holmes returned later on, he was in a genial frame of mind, which meant he was getting somewhere with the case.  
  
"Good afternoon, Watson. Anything of interest?" He looked pointedly at the paper I was reading. I shook my head, and stood to get a piece of scented notepaper from the mantle.  
  
"Holmes, Miss Demarcier visited earlier and asked me to give you a message. She said she knew and could prove it." Holmes ignored this, and picked up the paper after thanking me. "Do you know what this means, Holmes, for I confess I am at a loss" Watson handed Holmes a piece of paper.  
  
I begin a Lady and am also a Loss, And I know who I am Because I am my own Boss. Really a Red Rose carries no thorns, As many as Any other Attacks a thumb. Ruby blood can't be spilt by a thorn, You might want to think so or not.  
  
(A/N: Take a moment and try and figure this out.We'll see who Holmes would have approved of!)  
  
Holmes read this, a small smile growing on his thin lips, which transformed suddenly into an expression of delight. He leapt up and shook hands with his bemused friend violently.  
  
"Very well done, Watson, excellent, absolutely excellent." Watson looked puzzled. "Thank you Holmes, but what does it mean?" The great detective sighed. "It's elementary, my dear Watson. I know who did it!" Watson smiled ruefully. He wasn't going to press his friend, who was clearly thinking deeply now, but he did wish he understood the riddle.  
  
"I'm going out, Watson. Care to accompany me and discover the meaning of this mysterious mystery?" Holmes was in a jovial mood and so, they walked, taking the scenic route. Watson had no idea where they were going, beyond the fact that they were heading closer into town. As Holmes made a sharp right, they arrived at their destination. "Public Library?" Watson made the name a question, but Holmes merely smiled sardonically and ushered him inside.  
  
Inside, there was a great marble atrium, where we enquired if a Miss Demarcier had left a message. She had, we were informed, in the form of a note- containing yet another riddle. I groaned slightly as I spotted the scented notepaper, and read over Holmes shoulder.  
  
They dance in lines of uneven length, And are all different in feeling and strength, Laurel leaves and honor bound, I'll see you where words are on the ground.  
  
In my opinion, it was even more difficult than the last one. My friend, however, did not seem to feel the same way. "Come, Watson, the lady awaits!" He seemed almost eager?  
  
Five minutes later, we were in the poetry section, by the works of our present poet laureate. That much, Holmes had explained to me. The last lines were giving us problems though. "I'll see you where words are on the ground." Holmes muttered to himself, ignoring irritated looks from other readers. Suddenly, he smiled and looked down. A clue so obvious we had trodden on it. Literally. We stood upon a marble slab engraved 'In nomine Domine'. "Aha. Any minute, Watson." A librarian approached us as we waited, and calmly told us that the library was to shut later this evening, at eight. Over Holmes tall shoulder, I spotted Miss Demarcier gliding towards us. "Holmes." I gave my gaunt friend a warning word, and he turned to see what had attracted my attention. "She certainly is pretty, Holmes, but not very dangerous, I think." He didn't deign to answer.  
  
(~ Point of view switch! ~)  
  
"Hello Gentlemen, I see you made it here- any trouble?" Watson hastily spoke up; he could see his friend was about to make a sarcastic remark.  
  
"Indeed! I could not interpret your message, but Holmes understood immediately, well done, Miss Demarcier!" Holmes was back to the businesslike detective that didn't stoop to petty games he normally was, and spoke with polite interest. "You know what happened, Miss Demarcier?" It was her turn to become almost coquettish. "Indeed I do, Mr Holmes. Why, don't you?" If you did not know Sherlock Holmes, you could never have spotted the concealed pleasure at the clashing of intelligence in the air. "I have the answer- I wish to check that we have the same culprit. I find it is always advisable to follow up every loose end before informing the authorities. Don't you?" His echo of her words made her smile, and she led the way to a talking room, throwing the question 'am I just a loose end, then, Mr Holmes?' over her shoulder.  
  
My friend's scathing wit was about to come into the arena. I could see him bite back the first choking comment that came to mind, and go with the second. "Of course, Miss Demarcier. But an intriguing one, all the same. I will have this end tied up very soon." He was staring at her back with a look, I in all my years of companionship, did not recognise, or understand.  
  
We sat in the talking room, where a pleasant low hum of conversation pervaded the very air we breathed. She picked a table with three comfortable armchairs positioned in the corner of the room. It was almost ideal. "So, Mr Holmes, I expect you wish for me to tell you who and why first?" He nodded as he waited for her to sit, and then we sat down. "If you would be so good?" I winced at his tone of forced politeness.  
  
"Very well. The conclusion came to me the morning after you visited. It must have been the girl reading the book." Holmes looked bemused, and a condescending feeling emanated from his steely eyes. "Why do you suspect that young lady?" "She was reading 'Beekeeping for pleasure and interest'." "If I may be so bold, what does that have to do with the matter at hand?"  
  
Holmes was clearly onto a totally different scent. I felt sorry for our female companion, Holmes hated guesswork, and she would feel his patronising tone very offensive. He was really so difficult, but only with some women. Some he charmed easily, with his words and gestures. I felt he liked those less, though, as it was obvious that they were boring and unintelligent in his view.  
  
"She was only nineteen, and dressed fashionably. Do you understand now?" She was becoming almost as irritable as Holmes, but her last statement had rung bells in my head. "Why was a girl that age reading that sort of tome? Is it not unusual?" I asked curiously. "Bravo, Watson! Exactly." She turned to my curious friend with a patronising look of her own. "Perhaps she is well read? I know that it is an unusual trait these days, but it is hardly evidence for an arrest." He asked nonchalantly, with a sting of sarcasm in his voice.  
  
She raised an eyebrow. "Well then, Mr Holmes, I would be glad to hear your suspect and reasoning." Holmes was offensive in his superiority, but I shared a glance with Miss Demarcier, and was reassured that his tone and actions did not in any way upset her. I had no idea why- he was not this bad, even with me, most of the time.  
  
"First, I thought as you did, that the girl must be involved, as she was very close, but the other day I returned to the scene of the crime, and discovered it was impossible for her to have reached the plates. They were a good foot too far away for me to reach, and I have long arms.  
  
So I moved on, and remembered that the man eating the steak (a Mr Donnelley) had passed the table on his way to the bar at the end of his meal. It would have been easy for him to do this, so he became a suspect, and I ascertained it was most likely he had done it. However, it could also have been the waitress or cook, so I eliminated them from my enquiries.  
  
. The waitress had, luckily for her, moved straight from the kitchen to the table on account of the business of the restaurant, and it was unlikely that she had the opportunity, carrying six plates, as she was. The cook could also be dismissed from the investigation, as he served the same dish to another table, made at the same time, only divided into two portions, and the other dish was fine."  
  
I applauded my friend, and to my surprise, so did Miss Demarcier, to my surprise. He inclined his head in thanks, and sat back. "If you don't mind, Mr Holmes, I would like to mention one point. I never said she had to be within arm length. What makes you think so?" Holmes head shot up, and he stared at her. I fought to hide a chuckle, not since the case of the Yellow Face, had I seen him so perturbed.  
  
"Of course! How facile I have been!"  
  
She agreed by nodding, but he wasn't looking at her any more, thank goodness. He had sunk deep into thought. I knew that he would not take kindly to being interrupted and glad of the respect Miss Demarcier had just won, tried to help her keep it by distracting her from my friend  
  
."I still don't understand. How were they poisoned?"  
  
She leant my way, and began to speak quietly. "I believe that a poisonous powder was placed on the pages. Each time the girl sighed, I remember noting her book was dusty, as a small amount of dust blew towards her victims. In the steam of their hot meal, it disappeared. Unfortunately, I cannot prove it as I have not found the book. That is why we are at the library. Either the book was thrown away, or it is here, I think."  
  
We looked at Holmes as he stood up. "Precisely, Miss Demarcier. Your reasoning has been almost impeccable. However, why did you ask us, then, to meet in the poetry section?" I choked back a laugh, as she replied simply: "I could not think of a rhyme for entomology."  
  
That's it for now! Hope you like it, r&r! C3 up asap, entitled: 'To find a book in a library is not as easy as it seems'.. In which Holmes and Watson discover that Evelyn has an unusual past. 


	3. Too good to be true?

Well, here's chapter three! I hope you all like this and welcome any suggestions as to her past! I have a few ideas but am not sure about which one to go with.  
  
Particular thanks go to:  
  
Chapter Three: To find a book in a library is not as simple as it seems.  
  
We searched [entomology?] for an hour, pulling out books with similar titles for Miss Demarcier to examine endlessly. Holmes became rather interested, and began to flick through one or two 'checking for poison', as he claimed. At the end of that hour, we had found nothing, and had to conclude that either it had not yet been returned, or had been thrown away. Holmes then led us to the enquiries desk, to see if we could find out who had taken the book out.  
  
"How may I help you?"  
  
The librarian was an elderly gentleman, in his late sixties, but still sprightly. He beamed at Miss Demarcier, obviously flattered by her prettiness. "We are hoping to discover if you have the title 'Beekeeping for pleasure and interest' in, or if a friend of ours has taken it out?" Holmes spoke up, upsetting the old man a little by is abruptness. Miss Demarcier took over quickly, before he could fluster the man any more.  
  
~ Evelyn Demarcier's Point of View~  
  
Men will mess up the least difficult task, while easily completing things totally beyond me, I find, and Sherlock Holmes was in no way an exception. "We came to you because you looked to have such an extensive knowledge of this dear library. Could you please help us? My friends are not too familiar with that section, and we need an expert."  
  
God help us, I could see his chest puffing out as I spoke.  
  
"Dear lady, it would be a pleasure. Let me check the records."  
  
In five minutes, we had it. "A Mister Terence Donnelly has it- is he your friend?" Holmes and Watson shared a surprised glance, and looked at me. "No- oh I am sorry, I have wasted your time." I managed to seem disturbed by this (it wasn't hard) and he patted me on the arm, reassuring me. We left in a hurry.  
  
Outside, Holmes dragged me and Watson to a hansom cab and helped us inside- I seemed to have been accepted as part of the investigation for the moment. "Simpson's, driver!" He gave the order, and then sank into thought again. I pitied Watson who had to deal with Holmes anti-social nature upon a regular basis, but could see why he stayed. It was like that riddle about the girl with the curl in the middle of her forehead- when he was nice, he was very, very nice, but when he was bad he was awful!  
  
We arrived at Simpson's within ten minutes, and to our surprise, and my nervousness Holmes began to lead us into an alley. To my grateful thanks, Watson drew Holmes back with a cry of 'really, Holmes!' I could see the Great Detective was not thinking about how my reputation would suffer if I was seen going into an alley with two men. Thank god for Watson, the dear man. Holmes paused irritably "What is it, Watson?" "Holmes, Miss Demarcier cannot possibly." Light dawned in his eyes. "Ah. I see the dilemma Watson. You shall remain here with her, while I proceed."  
  
I couldn't deprive Holmes of his friend, who might be needed, especially in such a disreputable place. "Nonsense, Mr Holmes. I shall wait for you in the small café opposite. Be sure to return promptly, though- I fear for you in a place such as that."  
  
I pointed to the alley, where we could see drunks and taverns everywhere, the stench of alcohol strongly drifting into the busy street we were on. Watson smiled and thanked me for my concern, patting his pocket reassuringly. I felt glad he was carrying some sort of weapon and smiled in return. They left, and I walked over to the café and sat with a glass of iced tea- they might be a while.  
  
It turned out to be a correct guess, half an hour later they returned, Watson's hand covered in blood and Holmes much scruffier than before, carrying a battered book. I leapt up and obtained warm water, antiseptic fluid and bandages from the management as they sank into seats, exhausted.  
  
"Here, Doctor Watson, allow me."  
  
He gratefully held out his hand and let me gently bathe and bandage it. He had a jagged scratch, fairly deep, running from below his forefinger to his wrist bone. It was bleeding profusely, and as Holmes ordered them both brandies, I optically searched him for injuries. Apart from a small scratch on his neck, the blood from which was staining his shirt, he seemed all right.  
  
"Mr Holmes, may I bathe that? Its staining your shirt."  
  
I pointed out, a trifle nervously. Watson was sipping his brandy with a peaceful expression on his face, and Holmes looked at me searchingly before nodding sharply and inclining his head away from me so I could dab at it with the cloth. As my fingers brushed the sensitive skin at his neck, I found myself enjoying the contact. Only Giorgio allowed me to do simple things such as hold his hand and ruffle his hair, and I found myself starved for the human touch. I stopped quickly, and sat back down, hoping I wasn't blushing.  
  
"Mr Holmes, did you find it?" He looked at the book, and gave a triumphant grin. I found myself wanting to smile along with him and Watson- to share their success. So I did. "In a dumpster a little way away. Watson cut his hand on some glass while we were searching for it. They took some pains to hide it, but we found the book relatively unstained. We shall return to Baker Street where I shall analyse the poison in a few moments."  
  
I hoped the 'we' included myself. Watson smiled, obviously understanding what I was about to ask, and anticipating the question. He had clearly picked up more from his roommate than he let on. "If you would be so kind as to allow us to escort you home, it would be an honour. Sherlock may be up all night with his chemicals, and you must be tired. I promise we shall inform you as soon as we know more?"  
  
He was going to make a great husband some day. I smiled and agreed, if a little unwillingly. They walked me to my house, where my landlady invited them in for a cup of tea. Surprisingly, Watson accepted, while Holmes went to begin his experiments. I soon discovered it was his curiosity that led him to do so.  
  
"Miss Demarcier, I have to say that I wonder how a woman with such a good position in life, and with such intelligence and beauty is living alone and unwed?" This is where things got tricky. "Actually, Doctor, I do not live alone. I have a spaniel named Duke who is at present with a friend." I sipped from my tea, and smiled warmly at him. "I have no family, Doctor Watson." "John, please." "John," I amended "unfortunately, they all died when I was but a girl, in an accident at sea."  
  
So what did you think? Let me know please, and make a girl ecstatically happy! Thanks to Scarlet Rose: Please keep telling me what you think, your opinion is valued! I am trying now, especially with the format, but I'm not used to it, so please bear with me while I figure it out? Thanks for your support! March Hare: Thankyou for your review, I did mean as a romance, the canon will always be my true love. * chants * The canon shall always be my guide. 


	4. Fiendship and all that's in between

Thanks to March hare & Scarlett Red Rose, who reviewed! Wakizashi, whose fics I love, Nako- chan who is back and better than ever, QueenofSpain whose fics inspire me, and everyone who reviewed. You are all special, and Silvawen the elf crumpet, without her randomness, the world would be a lot more boring! Now, a pause for a rant:  
  
* takes deep breath * WhyisnoonereviewingisitthatbadtellmenowsoIcanworkoutwhatI'mdoingwrong! *breathes normally * thank you for putting up with that! Anyway, you aren't here for me, so on with the show!  
  
Chapter Four: And all that's in between.  
  
Evelyn and Watson talked late into the already deep night. He took his leave of her when the lamps had been lit for about three hours. She sat in silence for long after he had left, Duke's attention seeking whining, unheeded.  
  
Meanwhile, Sherlock Holmes had tested, checked, ascertained and finalized the name of the mystery solution. Completely ignoring the clouds of grey mist that hung to his clothes like a damp mist, he flung himself in his armchair, reached for the Persian slipper and began to Think.  
  
Watson entered the front door and walked up the fourteen steps that led to the shared sitting room. His face grim, he pushed open the door. To be forced to back away, waving his hands in front of his face in a belabored attempt to inhale clean air.  
  
"Holmes!"  
  
Sure his friend was either unconscious from the fumes or engrossed in some mysterious artifact that had so consumed his attention that he would not have noticed if their rooms were on fire, he plunged in to see Holmes at the window, opening it to its full capacity.  
  
After the smoke had cleared, and Mrs Hudson had been assured that there was indeed smoke without fire, the two sat down, and Holmes began to cross- examine Watson as to his conversation with Evelyn Demarcier.  
  
"Holmes, she. I don't know if I ought to tell you, old fellow. It was told to me in the strictest confidence."  
  
Holmes face was a picture of injured fury, so Watson hurried on to say what he felt he could.  
  
"She has had a troubled childhood; from day one she had no one she could trust or turn to. She grew up in a household full of men, educated scholarly men, who had little time for a small precocious female. So she sat, listened, and learned. By George, did she learn. Her mind is complex in ways I cannot imagine, although it certainly bears no comparison to yours or your brothers, Holmes."  
  
He watched, relieved, as the great detective leaned back on his chair and allowed his annoyance to fade a touch.  
  
" Yes, my dear Doctor, but pray tell me of her thoughts. Of her.reasons. What does she talk of most?" "Well, Holmes, she has a dog. A spaniel named Duke, of which she speaks fondly and often."  
  
Holmes face was a picture of indecent irritation, luckily Watson was staring into the fire moodily. Holmes looked intently at his friend who was in such an unusual humor.  
  
"I think she is hiding something, Holmes, something large. More than where she comes from, who she is and all the rest. She seemed unhappy."  
  
Holmes stroked his chin thoughtfully, and encased his thin frame in the armchair once more, never realising he had been standing. He put his pipe back in his mouth, and Watson lit a cigarette. This woman troubled both more than either would let on.  
  
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++  
  
The next morning, Watson woke and found himself covered in a blanket. Holmes was nowhere to be seen, so he proceeded to get up and eat breakfast, in a normal fashion. Holmes was incredibly erratic when he was on a case, and could be anywhere and would only reappear when he felt it very necessary. So, the doctor reasoned, it was best to proceed as normal and attempt to lessen the chance of being dragged away during a meal or working hours. Just as he was about to leave for work, Holmes flew in like a miniature whirlwind, dressed as a doctor, and dragged him back upstairs.  
  
"I have it all, Watson, old friend. I know everything." "Everything?" "Everything. The whole lot."  
  
Holmes dragged Watson to the sofa, relieved him of his umbrella and bag, and began to explain with uncharacteristic speed.  
  
"At precisely six thirty this morning, I proceeded once more to the library. If you ever write this case up, Watson, some mention of the importance of books might be agreeable- perhaps name it 'The Booked Dilemma'? I digress. It was a false clue, Watson! 'Beekeeping for pleasure and interest' was not the book being read by the girl at the table- as I have discovered the identity of the young lady, and she claims she was actually reading Darwin's controversial 'The Origins of the Species'. Miss Demarcier was mistaken. Also, Miss Demarcier made another error, in the fact that when the young woman was leaving, the victims starters were just arriving, so she could, in no way, have poisoned them. Miss Demarcier has been mistaken once too many times; I come to the conclusion that she has lied to us."  
  
Watson felt as if he'd just been kicked in the head. The sweet woman he had spent the better part of four and a half-hours with last night had lied, during an investigation, no less! She had cared for their wounds, made herself out to be a friend. He recognised the cold wash of betrayal that washed over him. Holmes noticed the impact his news had on his best friend.  
  
"My dear chap, I am sorry I broke it to you so jubilantly, my mind was merely preoccupied by the solution. It was in fact, the man I suspected all along. We now have just to trace him."  
  
That's chapter four done! I am getting really, really downhearted about this fic, please review! Should I bother to continue? 2 reviews for 3 chapters- discouraging much! If you are reading this, please, please make me happy, and tell me what you think (bad or good) and give me advice! Thanks so much to those who have reviewed, they are Good people! ~Estriel~ 


	5. The Confrontation

Chapter Five: The Confrontation.  
  
p  
  
We sat for a good hour, Holmes puzzling over the case, I over our betrayal. What reason could she have for deceiving us so? I was sure it wasn't from choice; she seemed clever enough to understand that my esteemed colleague would have found her out sooner or later. I could not understand- Why? Surely it would give me some idea of Holmes' view, if I reviewed his movements when he had entered the house, etc. I knew he cared for Miss Demarcier- Evelyn, as she had asked me to call her- as little more than a client, but I could see she had intrigued him, if only because of the mess she was right in the middle of.  
  
That dratted detective. If only he showed more outward signs. Wait. Perhaps he did? He had formed the habit of reading my thoughts when I was deep in contemplation of a subject, and I well remembered his acerbic voice saying 'The rule applies, Watson, to any subject- only variety of expression and knowledge of the subject must be taken into account.' Very well; that meant it applied to him also. I considered that I knew my subject well, and could account for some few of his expressions. I would try to find out what Sherlock Holmes really thought of Miss Evelyn Demarcier.  
  
It wouldn't be easy. Holmes sat facing a blank wall, face expressionless apart from his quick grey eyes, which were, in fact, shut. Which didn't help. But what I thought was meaningless existing, to Holmes, was a plainly illustrated book entitled 'body language- 100 easy lessons. And two hard ones.' I was, unfortunately stuck at the first lesson. Which, coincidentally, was one of the hard ones. However, I vowed that I would persevere, and continued to survey my subject.  
  
Could possibly that grayness of expression mean that he was thinking of Evelyn's apparent betrayal? It would seem possible- probable- but not certain.  
  
What else, then, could he be thinking of? The poisoning that had brought us together with Evelyn? More likely, almost, than the first, as Holmes never strayed too far from a case until it was completed, except for purposeful digressions when it was settled in his mind- the occasion of the Pirates of Penzance came to mind. If he was thinking about the case, he would almost certainly be thinking about the alley. It had been far too easy to find that book. Incredibly easy.  
  
In seconds, I was sure I had it. My companion was reasoning out the book- how facile it was to find it; the web of lies surrounding it. Intriguing matter, 'Beekeeping for Pleasure and Interest'. Now I was thinking about it, it seemed that Holmes had expressed an interest in the whole rigmarole of that collection of text when he had charged into the room this morning. I recalled his words:  
  
'.some mention of the degree of importance might be agreeable.It was a fake, Watson!'  
  
Very well, my friend was thinking about the book, I decided. I decided to break in on his thoughts, as he had done to me so many times previously.  
  
"Holmes, I do believe you are right. It was too easy, finding the book like that."  
  
My companion turned to me, a gleam in his eye. How I anticipated his praise - I knew his methods, and I had used them.  
  
"Easy, Watson? Pray elucidate. I seem to remember scrabbling through piles of muck in a most undignified manner, for twenty minutes. After a thorough amount of thinking on my part. Though perhaps, easy."  
  
I was careful not to show how crestfallen his callous words made me. He was now deep in thought.  
  
"Well, fine. Be like that."  
  
I couldn't restrain the hot words. A surge of energy seemed to have leapt through my companion, as he sprung from his chair.  
  
"That's it, Watson! You absolutely scintillate today!"  
  
I couldn't help feeling a rueful amusement- I helped when I wasn't trying to, and failed miserably when I attempted to aid. Ironic. The previous resentment was lost in the flurry of excitement, as Holmes strode about the room. Unfortunately, my comprehension had been lost with the resentment. "Yes, Holmes. How do I scintillate?"  
  
"Bees!"  
  
.  
  
And with that enigmatic remark, he disappeared into his bedroom.  
  
"Typical." I snorted, and picked up the newspaper.  
  
' ' ' ' ' ' ' '  
  
So, what do we think? I know it's a little out of character, but hey, its only an opinion. Well done to whoever pointed out in a review that it was a leetle to OOC for Holmes to find the book so fast- you cotton on quick!  
  
Thankyou to the reviewers, and a reccomendation: If you like Laurie R King's series, go to Jo Halcyon's fic. I really enjoy it!  
  
Have fun, and remember to review- go on, (to quote a much over used movie line) make my day!  
  
~Es~ xx  
  
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	6. Diary Entry

Hello Everyone! Glad to see y'all- sorry about updating- would you all believe me if I said I'd tripped over my kitten and killed the disk that had the next chapters on? Perhaps not, but I hope so!!  
  
I love all of you who review, you know you touch my heart when you say nice things about my story- thank you so very much.  
  
Criticism is totally welcome, I love it, so do keep advising away, I promise to listen, but not to change things if I like them my way! This is a shortie, but I hope a goodie. Its dedicated to those who suggested that I should make the title a bit more literal and put in some more diary entries (whoops!)  
  
Estriel.  
  
Diaries 6- An extract from Evelyn's Diary.  
  
(The same day as Chapter 5 is set in.)  
  
Dear Diary,  
  
I really like Sherlock Holmes and his friend Dr Watson, they both seem such pleasant men. I hope that they solve this case soon, as the orchestra was quite disturbed by the poisoning, apparently both victims had many friends- that leads me to wonder if they were friendly, and that the fault I deplore so much, lies within my own actions. I cannot understand it! I am a tolerably reasonable friend, I am not shy, and I am intelligent; there is no reason for me to be so unapproachable. All the friends I do have, are childhood friends, and live far away. I have spoken to Giorgio about this recently, and his replies were not reassuring. Complimentary, nonetheless.  
  
i  
  
'Darling Evie, you are shy. Not in the customary manner, though. You try to give to a friendship, everything. All as soon as you trust them. This scares some, and others- pah! They are leeches, and you grow bored with them. You do not allow them to give to you. There are very few people in the world that will force a friendship to be two sided; I am one of them. And your intelligence?'  
  
He had seen my face lighten somewhat, and hastened to continue before I could interrupt. Duke came over and sat by my feet, warm and comforting.  
  
'With your intelligence, you shine, Evie. In itself, that should access friendships with academics, you would think? No- you must conceal intelligence to some degree on occasions. This you have not yet learnt to do, and I hope you never do. You are true to yourself, and this is a great thing, although it is, as some put it 'the hard path'.  
  
His diatribe finished, he reached out a comforting hand, and laid it on mine. I was shaking slightly- how deep this man, this man who did not love women, saw into my female persona. I was lucky to call him friend. I would try- hard as I could, to turn Dr Watson and his strange friend into friends. Duke laid his head in my lap.  
  
"You are a true friend, Giorgio. Thank you." /i  
  
I remember this, now, and I have decided that the best course would be to invite Mr Holmes and Dr Watson to the orchestra's next concert- I never make any use of my free tickets (we are offered the use of them for each performance in sections- strings, wind, etc. It will be strings turn this next concert- which is a dreamy Mozart recital) and hope against hope that they will attend.  
  
Evie 


	7. Unexpected Twists

Hey again, everyone! Hope it is all going well? Wohoo, look at this- chapter seven, eh? Not bad for a newbie! As always, my eternal thanks and kudos to those who review- you really are the sunshine on my rainy days! And to those evil, evil people who don't review. Well, what goes around, comes around- remember that!  
  
Chapter Seven: ABC- Accusations, Bullying and Comforting.  
  
"Good God, Holmes!" Watson moved with alacrity, shoving the newspaper under his surprised friend's nose. Holmes took the paper, and scanned it for what had so alarmed Watson. When he found it, he read intensely, eyes a mere inch from the ink, scowling ferociously. Watson was pacing.  
  
"This rather changes the situation, Watson." Holmes understated, after flinging the paper dramatically across the room. Watson thought about making a sarcastic remark, but remembered that it was the lowest form of wit, and decided to keep quiet.  
  
What had so upset The Great Detective (and sidekick) was a small article about halfway down the second page. It read:  
  
Last night, at nine o'clock a young woman was viciously abducted and subjected to a sexual attack of the most depraved kind on her way between Piccadilly and Baker Street (her dest- ination). Would anyone with information or a possible sighting of the killer contact a member of the Police immediately. A reward of 5 Guineas will be available for information leading to a conviction or arrest. The young lady was in her twenties, with red attire that included a hat, which was lost in the attack, a purse, which was taken, and jewelry. The young lady's chaperone, a Mr Ifalussy, was knocked unconscious by the men, and is at present recovering in hospital. He and the victim will be well enough to attend the famous Conductor's next concert in three weeks time.  
  
"It must be Evelyn! She told me she knew Giorgio Ifalussy well, he was a close friend. She must have been on her way here with important evidence! We shouldn't have been so quick to condemn her, Holmes!"  
  
Holmes held up an imperious hand to stem the flow of regrets. As usual, it worked. The man had enough charisma and force to convince Heidi she hated goats. However, this didn't help Watson, who wanted to let it all out. Long accustomed to obeying the voice of his friend, he sat back down (he didn't remember standing) and looked expectantly at Holmes.  
  
He did not remember a time when the detective had seemed so devoid of humanity. Face impassive, sipping a cup of tea, he presented an unshaken front to the good doctor. Who wasn't fooled for a second- Holmes' knuckles gripped the teacup just a little too tightly for belief.  
  
"So Holmes. What are we to do?" Watson asked tentatively. "That, my friend, is quite a pretty little problem. What could link bee keeping, a murder, a book, a witness and a rape? I think I am to disappoint you, Watson. I must Think." Watson raised an eyebrow and mentally prepared himself for more of the horrendous shag tobacco fumes he was about to be subjected to. "Here's your pipe, Holmes. I shall retire to my room- do leave the window open, won't you?" As he was about to leave the room, Holmes' usually imperious voice made him pause.  
  
"Watson, would you call me predictable?"  
  
I am sorry that the chapters are so short, but the plot continues, if slowly! Your support and reviews are helping me through a rough spot in the story, so please, any advice, praise, flames- its all welcome and useful!!  
  
Luv Estriel 


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